


The Antecedent

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 21:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Minfilia and Elidibus, just before she leaves to go to Mor Dhona.  More happens between them than the Warrior of Light is privy to.  (MSQ: The Gifted)Originally this was going to be AU, but it kinda brought itself back into canon without bothering to check with me.  So, we'll go with AU-ish.





	The Antecedent

“Wait! Stay where you are!”

Wanting—needing—to know more, she dashes forward, hand outstretched. The white-robed Ascian whirls at her approach, darkness roiling in one hand. But, to her surprise, it doesn’t lash out, twisting in the clawed glove like a living thing in agony, dangerous. She tries to check her momentum and winds up stumbling into him, grabbing his arm—the less threatening one.

He looks down at her, face indecipherable behind the mask. “You would put your hands on an emissary?” The lip curls, disgusted, and she blanches but refuses to back down.

“I—I cannot allow you to leave just yet.” Her hands fist on the fabric of his robes. “Please,” she tempers her words, “what did you mean? That we would be of one mind?”

He does not answer her question, continuing to stare down at the offending hands in obvious displeasure. “How do you intend to compel me to remain, let alone answer?”

Sighing, realizing the futility, she releases her hold, smoothing the rumpled fabric on a whim before taking a step back. “I apologize. The… idea of an Ascian who is not an enemy remains difficult to accept. As you said, it has been millennia. And you seem to know much about the Echo…”

At her apology, the antiglow fades from his hand, and his stance relaxes from ready to neutral. He studies her, inscrutable. At length, he speaks.

“Knowledge carries a price. One you are not ready to pay.”

“What do you mean?” Anger rises, but she holds it in check. She stands taller, ready to rise to his challenge.

He smiles, seeing it, and takes a step closer. Uncomfortably close, despite the fact that she’d just closed that gap mere moments ago. One hand rises, opens palm up, clawed fingers splaying.

“The price I demand is your empathy. Your understanding of who and what we are.”

She blinks, dismayed. His head tilts to one side.

“See, you cannot do it. Blind as you are, you feel you would betray your cause by comprehending ours.” He shakes his head slowly. “When your understanding has grown, perhaps.” He turns, and she reaches out, stopping this time before grabbing him.

“Wait.” He pauses, and she takes a deep breath. “What must I do? To gain this understanding of you?”

“You must lower the walls of your soul and allow me to guide your Echo.” His lips curl again, this smile unkind. “You must trust me.”

She swallows, heart beating fast. It is a steep price. And it carries, as he suggested, the risk of betrayal, should sympathy worm its way too deeply in her heart. But… so little is known about this enemy; even Thancred cannot say much about his time as Lahabrea’s vessel, the majority of his memories of that period as though he were asleep or in a dream. And it is clear not only from this emissary’s words but also by his actions that he does not intend her violence.

She straightens her shoulders. “Show me what to do.” Her heart flutters like a captive bird, but her will cages it like iron, and she doesn’t move as one alarming glove comes to rest on her cheek. She gasps at the cold of metal along her skin, staring up into the mask, wishing she could see his eyes within.

“Surprising. You are serious. Very well, then; endeavor to relax. It will not be entirely comfortable.”

She takes deep breaths, trying to find calm, to center herself. It’s hard with him so close.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, and she does. “Now… stretch out. What do you feel?”

His hand on her. His robe brushing the front of her clothing. His breath barely stirring her hair.

“You must reach out with your Echo. Not your ordinary senses.”

She tries again. Almost she thinks she feels something, but she cannot quite discern it before he sighs.

“Let us try this, then.” Her eyes pop open in shock as his other hand finds her bare waist, drawing her body close against his. Fear chokes her voice as she opens her mouth.

“Calm yourself. Proximity will help.”

She gulps for air, the icy clawtips digging lightly into her flesh, sending goosebumps over her body. His lips compress, then turn up at the corners. He leans closer, pauses.

“Trust,” he says. Then he presses his lips to hers.

To her surprise, they are soft and warm. The nosepiece of the mask grazes her cheek, the lower edge pressing lightly as his face slants over hers…

And then she feels it, _tastes_ it almost, sliding into her mouth, between her lips. Power. A cool rush, filling her without taking up space, calling to something within her, something warm. The two powers—_Echoes_—meet, dance, twine. His hold tightens on her, and she realizes her hands are fisted in his robe again. And then the essences mingle.

Reality expands, spiraling outward into a void of sorts, but this void isn’t empty. It resonates with consideration, deliberation, planning. A measured and metered dance that follows steps planned so far in advance she struggles to see their inception. Something guides her, and she feels loneliness so deep it fills her fuller than any emotion she’s ever experienced, the loss of more family, friends, loved ones than she’s been connected to in her life. She sees twisted half-gremlin creatures, the broken remains of other loved ones, sees them struggle and flail and spit when he tries to help them.

She feels the pain of death strike, feels him withdraw to a dark place of healing before returning to struggle and ultimately die again, and again. She feels the icy fire of determination, the refusal to give in to despair. She feels hope, and it awakens surprise in her to learn that he hopes for a future full of happiness. A future full of loved ones, the loneliness filled by their return. Again he guides her, and she sees herself through his eyes.

She is one of the gremlin-things, but bright and shining where most are dim. He sees her as weak, twisted, but not without beauty and strength. A contradiction. A curiosity. Intriguing. Compelling.

And she sees _him,_ the core of self. He ripples with color, like an aurora but more complex, more interwoven. He is beautiful. She reaches out to him, drawn to touch him. He withdraws, the movement seeming reflexive, and she remembers her earlier blunder with chagrin. She hasn’t figured out how to speak in this place, but then she realizes she doesn’t need to as he conveys amusement and reaches back out to her. She gasps as the contact deepens precipitously, suddenly drowning in him, and she can feel he’s immersed in her as well.

She falls into him, and they are one, souls chiming and resonating for a brief, exquisite moment. She clings to him, not understanding as he gently disentangles her from himself, mourning the loss of connection as she is reduced again to just herself. He guides her back into her body, and her eyes slide open to find his lips still on hers, his body cradling her. His claw tips just digging into her flesh. His lips release hers, still smiling.

“Try now,” he says, and she recalls the feeling. It doesn’t take her more than a few seconds to figure it out this time, and she turns a smile to him, proud.

“Good,” he says, and his Echo touches hers again, not pulling her into him, just caressing her. She gasps from the sensation, inexorably reminded of the taste, the feel of his self, his soul. Desire and pleasure make her tremble even though he barely touches her.

He kisses her again, slow and sweet, and the combined caresses of aether and skin bring her to a peak. She cries out, going limp, overwrought by pleasure. And trust… she lets herself fall, trusting he’ll catch her.

* * *

Elidibus sighs as the Antecedent collapses against him. Her cry no doubt echoed through the stone walls of this place, so he sets her gently on the ground. Almost as an afterthought, he runs a hand down her forehead, placing a temporary veil over her memories—he hopes the other with the Echo will come to check on the woman, and no one else need know exactly what transpired between them. He keeps it light enough that her next sleep will tear the veil and reveal the truth to her on waking. Smiling once more, he steps through reality to await this Warrior of Light’s arrival.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe all inspiration for hot Ascian mind/soul-sex to Ozma. (AKA this is all your fault, technically!)


End file.
